An Apology - To Myself and My Family

I shared my thoughts with the world once—things I rarely let myself even think about. Now, looking back, the first post I published is something I deeply regret. It was a glimpse into my life, but one that only showed the anger, frustration, and confusion I carried. Life as a teenager is never easy, and I know now that I was fighting a battle within myself that I didn’t fully understand. Puberty, the whirlwind of emotions, and the overwhelming tension have often taken the best out of me. It’s been a constant struggle, a quiet storm within me that I’ve tried to outrun.

But in the past few weeks, something inside me changed. I began to ask myself: why do I feel this way? Why does my anger always simmer below the surface? And the more I reflect, the clearer it becomes—my parents are not the enemy. They’ve given me everything. They’ve raised me. Without them, I wouldn’t be standing here today.

I know there were times when I hated the early mornings, when I resented the endless tasks and expectations. It wasn’t fair, or so I thought. My brother got to sleep in, didn’t have to worry about college or exams, while I was constantly being told what to do. It felt like a heavy burden, something I could never escape. I used to believe that it was because they hated me, that I was the problem. Every time I was asked to do something, I felt a wave of anger rise within me. Why was it always me, and never him? Why was I expected to be perfect, to carry the weight of it all, while my brother seemed to float through life without a care?

But now, with clearer eyes, I understand. It wasn’t hate. It was love. A love that wanted the best for me, even when I couldn’t see it. I’m the youngest, and maybe that’s why they push me so hard. Maybe it’s because they still see me as their baby. And I think about my brother—he's already an adult in so many ways. He doesn’t take his studies seriously, and in that, I feel a sense of responsibility growing inside me. I can’t let that define me. I need to push forward for myself, not because I’m being compared, but because I owe it to the love they’ve given me.

I’ll admit, sometimes it’s hard to feel like I’m truly seen. But in the quiet moments, I realize how much love I’m surrounded by. Every morning, before my parents leave for work, I always wave goodbye to them. If I’m not around, my dad will honk his bike horn or rev it a little, just to let me know he’s leaving, as if to say, “I wish you could be here with me.” Isn’t that pure love? A simple, unspoken bond that connects us every day. I’ll never forget the nights when I bid goodnight to my mom, hoping that tomorrow, I’ll see her again, just so I can feel that warmth and safety in knowing she’s close.

I remember a friend of mine once told me: “Never stop loving your parents. Never stop respecting them.” At the time, I didn’t fully understand what that meant. But now, in this moment, it all makes sense. They may not always understand me, and I may not always express myself the way I should, but the love they have for me is unconditional. It’s there, in the small things, in the quiet moments, and in the moments when they push me to be better. They’re not perfect, and neither am I, but that doesn’t take away from the bond we share.

My parents are my first love. No matter how much I rebelled, they’ve always been my rock. They’ve never let me fall into the darkness without showing me a way out. They didn’t always hold my hand, but they gave me the space to learn, to grow, and to figure things out on my own. There were times I resented them for not doing more, for not understanding me in the ways I wanted them to. But now I see that their love was never a limitation. It was freedom in disguise.

My father, though he may not understand the intricacies of my life, has always been my protector. The world could turn against me, but he’d stand by my side, silently ensuring that I was safe. My mother, who nags endlessly, is simply trying to fill me with love, to make sure I never forget my worth. Her heart beats with affection, even when her words don’t always match her intentions.

And then there’s my brother—the one I’ve often taken for granted, the one I sometimes jokingly say I hate, but deep down, I love him fiercely. We may not always see eye to eye, and I get frustrated with him sometimes, but when we’re together, even during serious moments, we can never stop laughing. Looking at his face, I can’t help but laugh out loud, no matter what’s going on. It’s like a wave of joy that overpowers everything else. He’s my blood, my family, the one I can never get enough of. We don’t always take life too seriously, and maybe that’s the secret to keeping our bond so strong.

I’m sorry. I am so deeply sorry for the times when I acted out of anger, when I lashed out and made you feel like you weren’t enough for me. Raising me, a child with so many emotions and so much to prove, must not have been easy. I know I’ve hurt you, and I regret it with every part of my being. I’ve questioned myself more times than I can count, wondering if I’ve failed you in some way. But the truth is, I have never wanted to hurt you. I was just lost in my own world, consumed by frustration I couldn’t explain.

I promise, from this day forward, I will not let you go. Through every high, every low, every moment of doubt, I will hold on. We will hold on to each other. We are a family, and nothing can break that bond. I will work harder to understand, to listen, and to show you just how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.

I love you, with all my heart. And I’m sorry for not showing it the way I should have. Thank you for loving me, even when I didn’t know how to love myself.

“And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.” – 1 Corinthians 13:13